The Chronicles Of Ryan
by devonis123
Summary: A few different short stories, all centred around our favourite Jackal. Chapter 18 is a continuation of the first chapter, Imprints, I was feeling a little romantic
1. a funny incident

He watched from behind the panes of glass, his eyes wide and angry. He scraped his nails up and down, looking for a weakness in it. He shoved at it, it refused to break or even shatter. He flung himself to the floor in frustration, the trails of his straightjacket lying in tangled heaps, he shrieked and screamed. This was not fair. A man stood outside the glass jeering. That just annoyed him, so, he decided to do something about it. Waiting until the man had his face right next to glass and flew at it with renewed energy. The man shat himself and tripped over in an effort to run away. Ryan laughed, he laughed himself to hysterics, and soon it became screams as he jumped around the confined space. He fell over himself and crashed into the floor, though looking at him you wouldn't think he'd noticed. Everything seemed so much funnier. His maniacal laughter echoed through the corridors. He barely noticed as the cage was wheeled away from there, to a house, a house made of glass.


	2. fun

She looked down. Her once beautiful dress was ruined. Mud was streaked down the front and it was torn in several places. She began to cry, her mascara streaked down her face leaving black trails. This wasn't fair. Tonight was supposed to be the best night of her life; instead she was running for her life in the middle of a god-forsaken forest. She heard a noise coming from the trees behind her; facing it she made a decision, if these were her last moments she wasn't going without a fight. He admired her courage and rugged beauty as she strode defiantly towards him. Then he ripped her face off. Laughing, he jumped away. This was what fun was made of. This was just another night turned bloody dawn in the life of Ryan.

I'm sorry it's so short.


	3. not screaming but keeping sanity

He woke to the same view every day. The same routine everyday. He despised the hell out of it. He struggled to keep himself alive, not in the way we would, but the way he had to keep reminding himself who he was. He knew he was losing himself in this room, in this cage in these routines and treatments, every day more and more crumbled away, leaving something foreign and alien.

He stopped feeling emotions long ago, thanks to the great and all-knowing doctors at Borhamwood Asylum for the Criminally Insane. All he could dreg up was faded memories of people he never knew, that he would never see again.

The numb feeling that had crept through his body because of the straightjacket had now spread to his mind, which made him all the more unreachable. At the beginning he'd attacked them any way he could, now he flinched away from them, which mainly was to do with the numerous painful experimental treatments they'd inflicted on him.

He feared them now; the needles, the cage, the straightjacket, the doctors and nurses who supposedly were trying to help him were slowly but surely destroying him, inside and out. Most of all he feared the creeping darkness and what it brought; strange apparitions, shadows and monsters.

The drugs were affecting his mind, but unlike all the other so called "patients" he did not scream, instead he resided deep inside himself in the futile hope of holding onto what was essentially him, even if it was insane, it was all he knew.

He wasn't screaming but keeping sanity.

When the flames burned he didn't see danger, he saw escape and peace from the hell he'd been condemned to. He ran into their fiery grip and left all the tortures behind with a final scream, letting it all go. The final scream the doctors and nurses heard was never of pain, it was of freedom. Final Freedom.


	4. lost but not alone

All broken on the inside

Feeling unfinished in the mind

So insane it's like water on the brain

Trapped in this cage for all eternal life

Alone in this darkness

Not a flicker of good or light

Then it all came at once, this fatal beauty

So bright it seared me, so good it burned straight through me

So I was left a without a shell

Lost but not alone

ForI have finally found my place

With these others in this scheme of things


	5. the screaming will not stop

The screaming will not stop, why won't it stop? Please make it stop, please. The hunched figure whispered into the dark, he was saner than he'd really wanted to admit to himself, he wished he was out of it again, he wished the guards would beat him unconscious again, he wished the darkness wasn't so complete. The cage on his head sagged forward and he fell, not bothering to get up once more.

He could feel himself losing his already fragile grip on reality; he rarely slept because when he did the nightmares were killing him. He was never fat, not even a little bit, but now he was almost skeletal underneath the material, his ribs almost poked through his skin still painful from the last time the guards kicked them in.

His fingernails grew sharp beneath the folds and his teeth went rotten, his hair outgrew the prison and went more grey than black. He spent forever inside the cell in the basement with only darkness for company, darkness and his own suicidal thoughts that were his only hope for escape. He could almost see death looming out of the dark, he tried to cry but the tears wouldn't come, he was more than just depressed, he was empty. His eyes, which had once been filled with blood and lust, were now dead and empty, like his soul

The nights were better than the days though. The doctors with their gleaming eyes and shiny syringes filled with unknown liquids promising he'd get better, he'd see outside again. The sedatives were a godsend though; they meant oblivion and no more thinking, no more depression, even if it was only a few more hours.

His miracle came in the form of a deadly but beautiful thing. He stood at the sound of running and screaming, although he couldn't hear the individual screams he got the general message "fire". The guards opened the door and came to drag him out. He flew passed them and out into the corridor, most had already been evacuated so he was alone. The guards called out for him to stop, but fell silent as he reached the fire. He turned once and his eyes outshone the flames. He whispered "you can't touch me now because the screaming has finally stopped", andhe walked,almost casually,into the flames. The fire burnt his straightjacket and he clawed open theburning cage with his bare hands, leaving scraps of skin and muscle hanging there. "Maybe I really am insane" was his final thought, " thank god for that".


	6. revelations&realisation

I blink once, then twice and once more, trying to rid my mind of this nightmarish dream (made worse by the fact that while I felt no guilt I throughly enjoyed it), imprinted in my mind.

A young girl is running down an alleyway being chased by something, a dark menacing blob that is getting closer and closer for every panic-fuelled step she takes, her breath turns to misty fog in front of her, her eyes wide with terror, her screams met with crippling silence. The blob catches up and grabs her from behind, forces her into a small side alley where it strangles her until her eyes bulge in her sockets and her face turns deathly white. It hears a snap and realises that her neck has broken in its grip. The creature, for surely it cannot be called anything else, bares its teeth and sinks them into her neck, blood splattering down into the gutter, in a steady stream through the cobbles, it takes its claw like fingers and plunges them into her stomach releasing a cascade of black and red organs and then drops her, letting her flop as if she was nothing but a rag doll.

It turns in the dark alley, into the silvery moonlight, where its identity becomes obvious, the monster is I. My hair is black and with sheen, my eyes vibrant green and full of thefire thatI have since lostand my skin, while not beautiful, isunscathed. This, maybe not to be called a dream, but rather a hallucination, brought on by the medication among other things that would make my already frayed mind more delusional.

I think that maybe it is more of a memory sent to remind me of who I was rather than a random incident,it bring the realisation thatI willeither die by my own hands or live and die by their means of treatment. I know which choice I will make if the opportunity arises but I worry it may never come and I will be left here to rot in this basement cell, in this all consuming darkness trapped by these bars of solid iron which have conquered my spirit far more thanI would like to admit. I will probably be condemning myself to hell earlier than expected if i commit the deadly sinbut after this place hell will seem a bright sunny day in June.

I am so cold and alone down here I am stating to believe I have already died and this is my personal hell. I wonder if I made the right choice to protect the other women I would've surely attacked or if I should of leaned towards my own enjoyment rather than empathy. I have a feeling I might never know and will regret the decision if I find out. Maybe God has other plans for me and if he does, please give me the strength to kill myself now, rather than later.

Wait, I think I hear screaming and running, oh no, the guards are coming in, what if it's another session, Ipromise myselfthat I will non't go that I will fight andif i can'tI will run because if I stay I will not survive, fuck the rest of the human race. I am Ryan Khun and that will never change. My brilliant advice to the world, stay the fuck out of my way because I'm coming home.


	7. what could've happened

WHAT COULD'VE BEEN BUT NEVER WAS AND NEVER WILL BE.

Kathy, instead of turning left at the junction took a sharp right turn, which led her straight to where the Jackal stood impatiently waiting to be released with the others. The glasshouse shifted once more and various parts moved including a pane of glass meant to entrap the now freed Jackal and Kathy who'd saw him first ran screaming along the see-through corridors.

The Jackal heard her screaming and turned quick enough to glimpse the sneaker disappearing around the corner, he took up the challenge of cat and mouse with what can only be described as the epitome of enthusiasm.

Kathy ran from the insane laughing ghost as fast as she could but her tired legs were no match of the almost inexhaustible energies of the Jackal and was quickly caught up to.

When Jackal did catch up he went to grab the back of the Kathy's jacket when a shock ran up his arm and racked into his head, he screamed a lung ripping roar of pain and crashed head first into the wall in front of him, sending more pain through his shoulders, after that everything went inky black.

He blinked his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, he was still on the floor obviously, when he moved he sent another spasm of pain through his entire ectoplasmic body, suddenly a girl's head popped into his line of vision who, for a split second, he'd thought to be the Angry Princess but quickly realised she was wearing clothes and was unscarred, this was the girl he'd been chasing but why was she still hanging around. Ignoring the pain at a vast degree he sat up slowly, grimacing through the fiery pain that tore through his back and arms. He looked at the girls face and saw an expression that sat far beyond his jurisdiction; concern, which was mixed with fear, but the concern was actually there. He sat muted for what could've been ten minutes by which time he'd realised the girl had moved and was now sitting on the floor at the other end of the corridor staring at him with curiosity.

Kathy stared half in horror and repulsion, half in fascination and curiosity. The man/thing rose to his feet unsteadily, shaking violently as he did so, without even looking around, the only reason Kathy had not run was because she was unable to, the house had once again shifted and she and the ghost were trapped. Kathy decided to take into account something her mother had told her when she was still alive "don't ever run from a dog or a coyote or anything like that Kathy, because they will always chase you. Try not to be scared and they'll probably lose interest". So she watched the man walking and the first thing she noticed was he took such a long stride for such a short person, back and forward at a nervous almost scared hurried pace muttering to himself in a hushed angry tone, when he reached the wall he drew back his head and slammed it against the glass again and again.

Jackal hated the boxed-in-ness, it reminded him of _that_ place, and where the essence of his fears had grew and matured from wariness to outdrawn tortured terror. He hit the walls, cursing every explicit curse with vile venom, but he knew there was no way out for him until the machine called him out or the house shifted again, probably no way at all for the teenage girl. He stopped and closed his eyes to the physical world, he could see everything, but he was most interested in the spirit that stood on the other side of the glass above the boy, the Withered Lover, she kept saying something but he was terrible at reading lips, it looked like, no, surely not. "I love you". Damn that had to be her mother, fuck and damn. He re-opened his eyesto the physical realmand watched the girl with a mixture of hidden guilt and the very faint whispers of sorrow, but only whispers and echoes of somethings lost,lost to him long ago.

The glasses that let her watch the ghost kept slipping down her nose and she had to keep pushing them back up so she could make sure she always knew where the ghost was in case he decided to stop with the neutrality act. Kathy stood up slowly so not to scare him, she got the faintest impression he was like a dog that was badly treated, but with more bite. She turned slowly and found herself staring at her mother after the fire, she was terrified, she could see it in her eyes and suddenly her voice came through Bobby's recorder she'd grabbed it when her father had found it. "Kathy, stay away from him, don't go near him, he is a bad man, Kathy, I love you" it came through crackling with static and interference but it came through all the same. "Stay quiet Kathy, find Bobby and your father, please Kathy, please" with her message said, she smiled and raised her hand against the glass then backed away, disappearing from the lenses.

Jackal heard the message and looked at the recorder, anger, which was always quick to rise, engulfed him but he forced it down. He remembered a time when he was still small, only around five or six, and how his mother was never there, always making excuses until he followed her one-day and saw her trade. She was a whore. He hated her and saw her face on the women he'd slaughtered. He wasn't sure why he didn't want the girl dead but he didn't care either, he never understood the way he thought and never pretended to. After pacing some more he gave up and sat down near the girl.

Kathy watched him sit and wriggled just a little away from him, keeping in full mind what the spirit of her mother had said. Although he had his eyes closed, they still flicked back and forward beneath the lids like a fevered dream. Kathy grew more and more curious until her curiosity outgrew her fear and she nudged the ghost with her toe, expected it to go right through him but the ghost turned out to be as solid as a rock. The Jackal's eyes burst open angrily and Kathy, despite the situation said "sorry"

Jackal stared in confusion, he understood but was puzzled. He searched his memory for a reply and said "it's ok" he hadn't spoke to anyone for a long time, so when he talked to Kathy it was like trying to remember all over again.

"What's your name?" Kathy asked very innocently but Jackal fell silent, his memories were all jumbled up, he said in a dazed sort of way

"I think it was Ryan, yes, it was. My name was Rya…" he trailed off, realising he'd said _was_ which reminded him he wasn't Ryan anymore, he was The Jackal now and Ryan had crawled into some tiny dark corner, refusing to come out.

Kathy watched Ryan with a pinch of sadness, he must've been really old if he couldn't remember his own name, Kathy thought to herself, and really unlucky too, she added.

Jackal stared at his mockled hands with the sharpened nails, his dirty straightjacket and his reflection in the glass. He looked like a mess all in all and because of this he decided what he would do. He looked at the girl and asked something monumental, "what is your name?"

"Kathy" she replied, some small part of her realised the absurdity of the situation but the rest of her was deaf to its plea. They looked at each other without another word, letting silence fill the gaps.

Jackal smiled, not the evil leering grin he usually wore so often it might've been painted on, but as nice a smile you can manage as the ghost of a sadistic serial killer with an iron cage on your head. Kathy smiled back, her eyes still betraying her more than slight fear of Jackal, but the smile was still pretty warm. They both sat down together and waited for the house to shift again.

When it eventually did they took off on their own paths, each acknowledging that they were ondifferent sides now. Though, Ryan remembered Kathy and their short connection, it reminded him of half-formed destinies and fates which might've come to pass had things been different.

Kathy turned one last time and so did Ryan, each gave the other a final small smile before heading off inopposite directions.


	8. in your eyes

Don't look at me with that expression, please it hurts me, breaks my already shattered heart. The pain is never-ending but I can bear it, the cold gnaws deep into my bones but I will endure it, the only thing I cannot survive is that look in your eyes. You told me you'd help me stop myself, you said I could be saved but no, not now. Instead you look at me with those eyes, which once were so full of fire, but now are frozen and the only thing left is submission, you're giving up on me.

No I will not believe you, there must be another reason. I can think of none so I look away and pretend I never so saw you look at me that way but surely you could see it hidden deep in my almost empty eyes. I long for the fire that once was there so brightly it did burn, so righteously and all consuming, you might've killed someone if you stared too long.

I smile at the thought. They gave up long ago I never expected them to try but you, my hopes and dreams of salvation rested on your shoulders. You tried endlessly to teach me, break me, cure me but nothing ever really worked so I don't blame you for giving up, no I lie of course I do. You convinced me you could. You lied; you're nothing but a beautiful swan with a forked tongue resting in your mouth, flicking out to taste the air.

I watch you and you watch me as they drag me away down those steps into darkness, as you looked one last time into my eyes you saw it there, the wish, the last resort of forgotten hope left there.

You gasped and dropped your papers, I remember you yelling for them to stop but no, they don't and down I go. You cried for me and I could ask no more from you but this. Find a spot in some god-forsaken corner of a forgotten grave-yard and lay a flower there for me, I doubt I will matter much to you by then but it is a silent wish I gave to you.

I hope you heard but if not it doesn't make a difference for I am lost; to you, to me, to reality itself. I know nothing will save me here in this dank dark cell and so I resign my fate, letting the darkness spin me away to another place, one filled with insanity, much like a forgotten friend.

Suddenly you're there holding out your hand to me, I tear the straightjacket open and you throw me out and I see light, heat and my destiny portrayed in flames, the same ones in your eyes that very moment. You may have failed to cure me but you did something more. You returned the hope I thought I'd lost; it was always there, deep inside your eyes behind the ice a never-ending fire burning just for me. I thank you silently and thenI turn to run.


	9. I AM AN IDIOT

Scar and tear them, slash and rip them.

My head thumped against the bars of my cage as I threw the body back against the brick wall, I laughed and spun the other by the hands, cracking the wrists against a pillar. These people meant nothing to me and the enjoyment I took from destroying them was astounding.

I laughed and picked up the final person, a woman who screamed like a banshee. I breathed in deeply, I could smell the fear. I jolted forward and ran straight into her with my nails out-stretched, spinning her underneath me then swinging myself onto her and slashing away at her chest and stomach until she was empty.

I stood breathing heavily and watched as the blood seeped into the floor, I laughed a final time and ran out the room, still full of life, which was a little ironic...

I stood on the steps of my haunt and home, empty and now boarded up, I felt the pang of what was once might have been loneliness but the meaning escaped me, I'd been alone and tortured too long to really care at all but it was still there, reminding me that so long ago I was once like them, I was once human.

I stared at the night sky, all clear and full of stars. I could watch forever. I stood there for ages with my head upturned at the sky before everything started to spin or perhaps it was more I going round rather than the universe. I laughed before falling on my arse, still laughing my head. I truly sounded like a lunatic and right at that moment I didn't give a crap. I just stayed there, lying on the grass and staring at the blue-black infinity. I didn't pretend to understand, I just marvelled.

I heard laughing, healthy and normal, coming from the hill. A bunch of drunks coming for dares, I loved the 3am plonkers, absolutely no fight and all scared shitless. I stood twitching for a few minutes, still enjoying the peace but my heart begged for blood and as always I was helpless to its pleading. The drunks had no idea what hit them. I looked towards the hanging moon and felt the pull. For that moment I lived a life I had no chance at, only for that moment though and reality bounced back.

I headed towards the intoxicated party with fingers tensed and eyes sharpened to the darkness. I soon forgot everything, the stars and the moon, the feeling of loneliness and profound wonder. Now all that filled my head was thoughts of predator and prey, my victims, the taste of blood and rush of ectoplasm adrenaline. I am retarded and insane but I believe in what I do, I'm living my life how it should've been. Unfortunately for me I failed to sense the trucks not far behind the drunks, I should've if I hadn't had such a one-track mind. I can laugh at myself now though. I am a idiot andIthroughlyenjoy it.


	10. Just Like You

The man watched in silent pity as I wept, tears of anguish streaking grimy trails down my grey and scarred face. As I sobbed I screamed nonsense to the ceiling of my glass prison but the man couldn't hear the screams, only feel the waves of the fear and sorrow crashing towards him from this unlikely source.

I looked forward and saw the man for the first time but the tears never halted. I stood shakily and fell forward, unbalanced and in terrible pain, against the glass. I screamed for help and the man did nothing but watch as I tore myself apart with the screeches. I put my claw-like hand against the glass and my whole being begged for help and then the man heard my voice, filled with pain and fear, I called out to him.

"What do you think I am? I'm just a man. Just. Like. You. Please help me…Please"

I couldn't continue my plea as a huge wave of pain crashed over me and I abruptly stopped and collapsed into a writhing heap, my screams warping into raw roars of pain. When the convulsions eventually subsided I crawled pitifully to the far corner and remained there rocking slowly back and forward, staring fearfully at something only I could see, my fear remaining unseen to the mortal world.

The man stayed there all-night and talked to me but I think it was mostly to himself. "For the first time" he said "I think I might be having doubts of Cyrus's stupid contract, no matter how much money it's bloody worth".

The ghost he'd thought he'd captured the night before was wild, volatile, unpredictable and nasty, but I no longer felt as I did, now I'm something else for a little while, no matter how I looked on the outside I was now somehow more human, my eyes filled with tears and my arms wrapped protectively around my body, The man condemned himself for doing these horrible things but couldn't stop them from happening, if I could I would've sympathised.

Sleep never came to me nor to the man (whose name I learned was Dennis) it seemed, he stayed with me all night. I hoped he'd not leave me alone in here, it would be too much like before, too much like _then_.

Dennis leaned against the opposite cell and watched me, talked to me, smiled when I did even though this revealed a mouth full of rotten teeth. That was until another man came, I hated him and I wanted to tear him apart, I could feel my regained humanity slipping away like water through my hands and I didn't give a crap, I wanted to rip him apart. I ran at the glass and he just laughed when I bounced back to the ground, I just stood and glared, laughing as I caught a glimpse of the future. The laugh grew and bloomed into the psychopathic sadistic maniac I was so well known for. I loved to let go and feel no pain. I hated myself for it but I could offer no resistance.

When I was freed after destroying the vile man named Cyrus I came across Dennis's body and wept for the lost soul who'd shown me kindness once.

Then I saw him, he stood calm as a coconut and smiling that enigmatic grin, polishing his glasses and looking at me without a hint of fear, just like that night. He turned to go and I followed him, laughing all the way into the forest. Freedom tasted so sweet that night.


	11. IOU Everything

**I wrote this story never meaning for it to make sense, just for the sake of my own satisfaction**. **Have fun reading it.**

**P.S: Thanks to all who have reviewed, special thanks go to "Maya)-sleepy", "FitsofGiggles" and "Keade-thefallen-Angel14" for reading and reviewing all the way ) Thanks to All Of You...devonis123. THIS IS NOT THE END mwhahaha.**

I.O.U Everything

The note was lying crumpled on the coffee table; he picked it up sadly, the last thing she'd had ever wrote. He was actually going to make a joke about it with her when she returned, now he'd never get to. He felt the anger rising and the red mist clouded his vision; grabbing the table he threw it across the room, it broke into pieces and cracked the wall. It wasn't fucking fair. She was everything he wasn't; smart, funny and brave, she didn't deserve to die. She always said imperfections were the real beauty in people but all he could see when he looked in the mirror was a scrawny, broken, dead and dead-eyed, idiot. She wasn't without her faults but compared to him she was perfect.Something inside him broke and he sat on the bare floor, his dry sobs echoed through the room; after they'd dried out he just sat there all night staring numbly at the wall.

The next day someone was knocking at the door, he didn't notice and they entered. Only a few select people were either stupid or strong enough to come in uninvited. This time it happened to be Dana and Royce; they looked worriedly at Ryan who didn't even glance at them, even when they said his name. They'd heard the bad news a few hours ago and were pretty nervous about coming, he could be extremely volatile in the best of circumstances, but this was much worse, it was as if he wasn't even there. Royce picked up his bat and did something extremely stupid, he nudged him with it. Ryan screeched and grabbed his head and swung him round over his shoulder, and then he dragged him to the door and shut his head in it again and again. Dana screamed and made the second mistake of the night and tried to pry him off, Ryan snarled and slapped her off, he stamped on him and kicked Dana viciously, dragging her by her hair to the doorway as well. He stormed out, slamming the door on Royce and Dana heads on his way out.

Ryan ran, he didn't care where or how far, he just needed to get away from the memories that were haunting him, he didn't want to remember, the incident with the two others didn't particularly bother him, he needed to vent some of this anger (what everyone else would probably call grief). He felt like ripping everyone and everything to shreds. Nothing mattered anymore, not without her. He looked around, he realised he'd come in a big circle and was back at his house. He wandered in and looked around, those two had left, there was a lot of blood lying around but he didn't care, he just plopped down with a clunk and fell into oblivion.

The day after Breaker awaked him grudgingly from his place of nothingness, "shit why couldn't they just leave me alone for fuck's sake", he thought to himself and stood up.

"Jesus man you look shit" the seven foot giant said sympathetically.

Ryan replied with a well-aimed shove, knocking him over, Breaker just stood and grimaced.

" Fine, you do whatever you want, alright, do you hear me Ryan?".

He just stared blankly at him, Breaker just shook his head and walked away.

Ryan stayed like that days and days; the others grew steadily more and more worried about him. He was doing the ghost equivalent to wasting away. Until one night they all went together to knock the sense into him. They opened the door and went inside, he was fading, lying there; he was fading in and out of their sight. This was bad. They grabbed him and kept a hold of him, he twisted and writhed trying to escape. They firmed their grip. Breaker dragged him to the other side of the room and slammed him into the wall by his head he then rattled the cage around. The others watched solemnly, they had to keep reminding themselves that this was for his own good. Ryan just stayed where he landed in a heap on the floor, he twitched a couple of times but at least he was solid again. Breaker kicked him a few times, trying to get a reaction but when he didn't he went for more drastic measures.

"She was just using you anyway, she was a bitch and didn't deserve you, she's better off dead"

Breaker whispered this in his ear and took several steps backwards. He was right to do so. Ryan flew to his feet and screamed rabidly, with claws out-stretched he ran at the giant with all the fury of a concentrated hurricane. He tore at him so hard he fell to the ground and but Ryan didn't stop tearing at him. The others ran forward and tried to pull him off but to no avail, he whipped round and went for them too. They ran, not something ghosts did very often but an anger/grief fuelled Jackal was plenty of reason to do so. Breaker moaned lowly and with an insane grin Ryan returned to finish, he was about to head-butt the already down giant but darkness crept through his vision and he collapsed beside Mahoney.

Breaker stared at the sleeping Ryan in a different light. He knew what he was getting himself into and wasn't going to exact revenge but he hadn't expected such a violent reaction, though he probably should have with what he'd said to him. He stroked Ryan's cheek lightly through the bars and tousled his hair, before standing, wandering across the room and picking up the crumpled note, after reading it, he returned it to Ryan's hand with a sad smile.

As he awoke, Ryan felt totally exhausted. He stared at the door, waiting her to come through but he remembered the night before last and grief-filled tears streaked down his grimy cheeks as realisation hit him with a terrible blow. He felt something in his fist and stared at the note, she was gone and was never coming back.

Breaker Mahoney smiled slightly and half-heartedly. It had taken a lot to let the little insane guy see but he finally did, he could see it in his face as the tears fell. Ryan knew she was gone now.


	12. Out for a spin

Ryan walked along the road, lugging the metal cage wearily in his hand, not really wanting to throw it away after Royce had managed to get it off, so he hid it in some trees at the side, not wanting to drag it all the way.

He watched the huge metal machines that Royce Clayton was so obsessed with; he never stopped talking about them. For months and months he'd been stuck, stuck listening to him ramble on and on and bloody on about these "cars".

They roared along at unbelievable speeds, they were killing machines, more so than murderers, more so, than even him, he burst out laughing at that one.

The look on Royce's face when he told him that he'd never been inside one was total incredulity. He simply refused to believe that anyone, from any time in the past, could not have been in one of those metal coffins.

And that's probably why he was wandering towards a god forsaken car yard in the middle of nowhere. After getting him out of the metal cage, Royce made him swear to turn up. He said he was going to "take him for a spin". Whatever that meant…

There it was, the road through the trees, which ended up at the empty yard Royce described.

When he got there, Royce was leaning against a beat up red car, smiling and swinging his bat slowly back and forward, kicking up dust with his boots. He beckoned, opening the car door, letting the dust whirl around his feet.

Royce waved, bowing as he held the door; Ryan smiled and whacked the back of his head. With some nervousness he climbed unsure into the passenger seat. Royce slid over the bonnet and launched into the driver's seat like he'd been made for it. He probably was.

Ryan watched Royce playing with various knobs and buttons but not really paying attention, he was actually watching the sky as it faded from pale celadon to dark navy, as the stars glinted out from under the cover of light and the moon as it reflected off of the world.

Suddenly his melancholy mood was whisked away in a cloud of carbon dioxide and Royce's whooping as they cleared the road in what felt like one second flat. The car flew to the right, skidding as it went and Royce was laughing, he was damn well enjoying this.

Ryan dug his sharp fingers into the upholstery, tearing it into chunks. This was terrifying but…but as they spun round a bend he could feel the excitement rising, he watched Royce yelling and whooping out of the corner of his eye and then joined in.

Royce watched Ryan out of the corner of his eye, he looked scared, and he was even ripping the seat. But just as soon as he spun the corner Ryan was smiling again, yelling along with him, it was great to be driving again but being with someone who was enjoying it too, well, it was brilliant.

Suddenly there was a huge bang, sounded like a tyre, the car spun out of Royce's control, it hit a rock and flipped again and again.

Ryan watched the world turning on its side, indifferently, knowing what was happening couldn't hurt him. Until the flames began to flicker, when he seen them he screamed, he couldn't help it, it burst from him like pain.

Royce saw the engine burst into flames and suddenly he heard wrenching screams, they got into his head and ripped up and down his mind. They were horrible, tearing him up inside, he had to stop that screaming, he thought, but who…he looked to his right and saw Ryan was making that noise, but why?

Then he saw the flames reflected in his eyes and the fear that shone in them. He felt a rush of…a rush of something for the guy. He pulled himself out of the busted window and ran over to the passenger side, Ryan was squirming but not the right way, and Royce started yelling but couldn't concentrate over the screaming, oh god that screaming.

Ryan could feel the heat; he could smell the fire and hear the world melting. But somewhere far from here someone was trying to save him, reaching for him, he felt the hand grabbing for his own. He took it in his, he grabbed the hand that was reaching for him and it pulled him out, out of his hell, out of those flames.

Royce plunged his hand through the steel, it took a lot of concentrating and that was in a very short supply, he snatched at Ryan's hands and when he felt the pressure he yanked him out.

He stared at Ryan who was shivering and half-sobbing at the side of the wreck in the middle of the night, the fire shining off of his pale grimy face, and he realised something.

People were only as big as everyone wanted them to be…


	13. Beginnings

This particular story is set back before Ryan became the Jackal, his transformation as such. To all my readers, reviewers or not, thank you for giving these stories a chance.

His head pounded as he rose from behind the garbage, he supposed he'd had too much to drink last night again, but to be fair he'd drunk a lot more on other occasions. He shook his head vigorously and stood shakily to his feet, looking around at the other defenceless drunks who'd just collapsed around the back of the tavern when it closed, he rummaged through the bodies and pick pocketed what little money there was to be had and then wandered off to search for something else to drown himself in, no, not in but out, to drown out the memory of that…that…woman.

He prowled the streets; it was around three or four in the morning and the sun was starting to send some lighter purple rays around the foggy horizon, turning the clouds to pink candyfloss.

He stood at the old bridge and stared at the murky waters, the stink was unbelievable and the water was sluggish with filth. He kept seeing her face as it turned white and her eyes bulged, her blood running with the rainwater into the drains and the last scream, the stomach-wrenching wrought out scream was the only thing echoing around inside his head but the worst thing was the excitement that rose in his own stomach, he enjoyed it and the scream had turned him on to the point of giddy unconsciousness, until her body flopped in his arms and the police turned the corner, he barely escaped.

He avoided the main streets, especially the glass window shops; his reflection was horrifyingly familiar to the dead and dying disease-ridden bodies of the poor lying unattended in the streets. His eyes were rimmed with vibrant red, his skin going from lightly pale to a slate grey. He had not a doubt in his mind that he was killing himself, but at least it might be before he ended up killing again for that rush, it was like the junkies lying forever stoned in the opium dens eternally caught in their own vicious circles.

It was the very next night and already he's succumb to the lure of searching for his next victim, no matter how much he disgusted himself he just couldn't stay away.

"Just watch a little, don't do anything stupid, just watching, there's nothing wrong with that", he whispered to himself but it sounded like the ramblings of some poor soul long left their sanity behind, trying desperately to convert themselves from some despicable deed, he couldn't even heed his own feeble warnings. He spotted someone…

The woman walked a little quicker as if sensing on some animalistic level that she was being watched and was in danger, her heels scraped against the cobbles and her dress snagged occasionally on the rubbish lying around in piles.

He swerved into the side alleyways, always keeping her red-bonnet in sight as it bobbed in time with her steps. He made no sound himself but could hear the woman's anxious breathing and he also fancied he could hear the frantic beatings of her heart.

She began to run, her footsteps echoing off of the tall dark houses on either side of the streets and he gave chase in total silence. She shrieked as if the devil himself was shadowing her footfalls, but only a man and nothing more stalked her in the pressing darkness. She ran down a treacherously thin alleyway and that would lead her to her violent downfall.

He slipped through the maze of alleys, streets and paths with extraordinary ease; one could say it was almost predatory. He was soon so close behind her that he could smell the obnoxiously rich perfume as if she'd been trying to cover the ghastly stench of the many men she'd "had" that night. He was very nearly gagging but refused to give himself away and instead ran at a quicker place, the woman half-turned when she heard for the first time the pounding of his feet against the cobbles and as she did so she twisted an ankle, letting out a shrill sharp shriek that soon turned to a throat-ripping scream as he fell upon her body and at last, gave-up the thin veneer of humanity, giving in to the hollers of lust and excitement. When finished he dumped the violated and now mutilated body in some god-forsaken back alley.

He stopped suddenly and looked up to the bloody moon and laughed, for a long time it was all he could, the laughter was high and frightening but instead of caring he laughed until his throat felt raw. When he could laugh no longer he began to walk, whistling tunelessly, and as he went his eyes took on an insane glint...


	14. How is Dr Shitpit is to blame

"Now Ryan, you need to calm right down" The doctor said in a placid and even paced tone that grated into his patients skin.

No, fuck you, fuck, fuck, shit" Ryan screeched inches from Doctor Shitpit's face, spitting deftly with each syllable into his sharp cold brown eyes, if not for the straightjacket and restraints he would love tear open his skull with his bare fingers and dance in the fountain of blood that spewed forth. He laughed ominously, wishing feverently for this dream to become reality and the nurses almost cowered in his presence, he loved it, they were actually scared shitless of him.

"Now Ryan if you do not calm right down I will be forced to detain you in solitary confinement" Ryan stopped and stared in utter silence, abandoning his daydream and becoming lost in his own nightmares. He shivered from the cold though the room was uncomfortably warm. He shook visibly but plunged back into his retaliation, defiance was the only thing he had left and he refused to give it up, even if it meant to go back down there.

"Now Doctor Shitpit, there's a lot of awfully big words there, not sure I be understanding you quite good" He drawled unintelligently, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Ryan made raspberry noises and hawked, drawing a huge glob of spit and launched it at the Doctor whom he called Shitpit and hit him directly in the face, which was turning a pale sort of red.

"Now Ryan, stop this immediately, you are not stupid but neither are you fearless, let's see how a week in solitary confinement does for that rebellious attitude." He smiled smugly at his patients face as it paled from grey to white. He ignored the obscenities that erupted from Ryan's rotten-toothed mouth and motioned for him to be taken away. His threats and curses echoed from wall to wall, room to room until reaching the stone steps where he fell into a tirade of screaming and struggled futilely against the restraints. When the nurses reached the correct room they left him there to screech in the squalid smelling pit of darkness.

"Oh God here again. No. Shit. No. Shit. No. Shit" He repeated the same two words as he rocked back and forward in the middle of the room, not that he knew, he just knew that something was living in the black beyond him, breathing and sharpening it's claws. He felt something brush his arm and screamed, jumping off the ground, snapped the straightjacket open and lashed out with his fingernails, wickedly sharp from scraping at the walls. The rat squealed then fell still in his hand. "Rat, just a little rat" He stared malevolently at the ceiling. "They won't feed me, I bet I'll die down here, shit, eat a diseased mangy animal or die of starvation. Great choice" Sarcasm shifted ceaselessly through his words. He cringed then tore one of the creatures' legs of and chewed on it. He ate the whole rat within two days of strict rationing, starvation began to scratch at him and he could not satisfy the undeniable itch. Except by catching and eating the current infestation of rodents. He did not know when night descended but could not sleep anyway; twisted nightmares clung to the walls of his black mind refusing to release him. Day turned to night turned to day which turned back to night, the cycle went on and on as the sands of time themselves fell eternally.

Eventually the week in the black ended, the nightmare unfurled in the light of day and the most unwanted help rescued him. A combination of fear, exhaustion, starvation and drugs had reduced his before lean, and muscled body into a wreck of twitches and a bag of bones, his weight plummeted and his prior thick black hair had become a mess of tangled salt and pepper wheat. He stretched himself even thinner to keep the façade of defiance up. He had more and more "psychotic" episode and the nightmares that had previously only haunted him in his troubled sleep began to prowl the corridors of his mind restlessly and attacked him even during the daylight hours. After a long and rather disturbing episode he found himself no longer able to retain his own sanity even enough to converse on equal footing with the admirable Doctor Shitpit and when the before said Doctor decided there was no hope left for the patient he condemned him to the darkness below, believing soullessly that the quicker he swept Ryan Kuhn under the rug the better for all of humanity. The depth's of reality had never met such an incredibly stupid man and probably never would.

This was just a bit of fun by the way, written to pass the time at 12:52am in a fit of insomnia.

Please, at least give me ten seconds head start.


	15. There's nothing left

"Has no one told you?" he screeched loudly and laughed, dragging the terrified woman's face to meet his own. "No one is coming for you" he laughed again and threw her down. She sobbed and shook her head, her cries resonating through the small apartment room.

"Please let me go" She begged and pleaded achingly to the man who towered above her cowering naked frame. His eyes went cold and he snarled, spitting venomously

"Whore, you do not deserve release" He yanked her by her icy blond hair and pushed her against the wall, scraping his nails across her breasts, leaving long deep bloody lacerations "You do not deserve the life you've been given" he smashed her face against the wall, breaking her nose and spraying blood across the bricks "You should understand by now" he grabbed her throat and forced her to the floor "I have no nobility you can appeal to" he squeezed tightly on her pretty pale throat, her face turning purple as she kicked futilely against his weight across her abdomen "there is nothing left". He continued to grip the dead prostitute's throat long after her eyes dulled and her struggles ended. "Nothing left inside" he whispered to the hushed air, pulling himself from the woman's body and knelt beside her, staring at the still beautiful body in spite of her untimely death. He snarled viciously and smashed his fist into her face repeatedly until any beauty left was destroyed.

"I did nothing to you" her speech still echoed through him "I did not deserve this"

"Yes you did, you're nothing but a dirty diseased whore," he shouted to the phantom voice, spinning to his feet and grabbing at the air.

"I did nothing wrong" her tone was sickeningly sweet and clear, dripping with indictment and accusation. "It is your fault I am dead"

"And I'm glad, I'm fucking glad you're dead, one more whore from the streets" He screamed, his voice rising to fever pitch to try and obscure her blame filled tone.

"You are nothing, you never will be" No matter how loud he screamed her voice filtered through inside his mind.

"Shut up shut up shut up," he screeched. "Just leave me alone" his voice fell to a whimper and then he realised he was alone in the dingy room. He fell to his knees and put his head in his hands, near to crying with confusion and fear. "What is happening to me?" he beseeched to the shadows that slithered across the walls. "Why is this happening?" tears fell from his mismatched eyes and he groaned submissively, letting his sorrow and self-pity drown out all reality.

It was late into the night before he had the will to drag himself from the floor, ignoring the corpse that lay sprawled naked and bloody across the boards. He yanked on his coat and fled the room; his ran far and fast, his feet pounding the cobbles until he could no longer breath. He ceased his running suddenly at the sight of the Borhamwood Asylum, standing atop the hill, overlooking the city like a haunted manor. His warped mind became clear for a moment and he knew what to do. He shivered, though it was not so cold, and started towards the building, hoping that they could help, knowing that they could…somehow…help him.

Sorry it's so short sighs and looks out window I wish I could write more but I've been so swamped by everything. Please review, it makes my day.


	16. Dream Decisions

Rain soaked, with distracted mismatched eyes, combed, clean, dark hair and with a black suit, he wandered through the pristine hallway, dripping puddles of water onto the wooden boards. He stopped suddenly, catching sight of himself in a tall looking-glass. Haggard and gaunt, with ashen, scratched skin. Rags of a straightjacket barely hanging onto his grim bones and with a grin that belonged to someone else plastered across his grey bleeding skin his doppelganger looked back at him.

He stared not believing his own reflection. For a split second, he could've sworn something moved behind his mirrored self, a malignant shadow caressing the edge of his wrong-self. Shaking his head of such a horrific phantasm, he ran from the mirror, steadily onwards towards a door. As he slowed back down to a walking pace, he became aware of something breathing just behind him. Without looking, he began running again. His echoing footsteps sounded out of time with his falling feet and the breathing that tickled his neck grew more laboured. As he reached the door he looked over his shoulder and stopped, watching agape as his wrong-self stepped from through the looking glass. Laughter, high and insane, reverberated through the corridor. He shook head to foot in fear, petrified to a point where he could no longer remember how to make use of his joints or where his legs were.

The creature, which was like himself but not, laughed on and on even with nothing to be laughing about and step by meticulous step, grew closer to his intended target. "No. No. there must be some mistake, go back, leave me here in peace" he pleaded desperately.

"Peace? Oh yes. Pieces of peace in the wind and under the ground!" His wrong-self garbled, his words mixed with bouts of mad giggling. His voice was, as his looks, almost like his own. But not.

"Leave me alone!" He was no longer frozen, he all at once remember how to operate his body and turned tail, fleeing towards the door. The creature loped easily behind him; it's breath tickling his neck. "No, go away! Please!" He reached the door and jangled the handle; the door fell away into nothing, revealing a living darkness that breathed, in and out, in and out. His wrong-self stood beside him, peering into the blackness with obvious fear.

"Not there, not there, not going, no. No. No. No!" The laughter was gone, as was the difference from his voice, he was listening to himself crying out and screaming, but he wasn't the one distressed, he felt still. Cold, in fact. So cold inside he might as well be dead. He looked to his wrong-self, who stared helplessly back at him, weeping, with screams wringing from him like nails down a chalkboard.

Suddenly and all at once he was inside the darkness, he couldn't breath, it filled him, through every pore. He felt his wrong-self join him and he could fight it, he could survive, if he embraced the madness.

"I'm not like you, I don't want to be you," he begged feebly.

"Do you want to be dead, cold and dead? You looked in the looking glass and saw your reflection, you aren't like me, you are me, and I am you" The voice chattered from his own mouth and he knew it was over. All over. A new sound reached his ears, laughter, high and insane, emanating from his own mouth, his own voice. There was no longer any distinction.


	17. Some Sort Of Diary Thing

I woke up again in the glass cell and looked over to the cell away from mine.

She'd look so beautiful standing there, all sulky with the world. So pretty covered in all that blood and running mascara. Alas, what could I have done from all the way over there but just stare? I watched every flickering emotion, every subtle change in mood and expression, and every one was captivating. She was naked but that no longer interested me to the extent it did when I first arrived there, it had become merely a background attraction.

Every so often, she would look in my direction, her eyes would flicker with so much hate and fear for she knew who I was, what I did for fun and entertainment. It lit up her sullen face and dour posture. She looked so alive when afraid, as did they all, fear indeed brought out the vigour in a person.

I laughed at her sometimes, the little way she'd purse her lips and raise her eyebrows in surprise. It was so intoxicating. I couldn't resist licking my lips. She'd look so disgusted, so revolted at my appearance and at my behaviour, it was almost too much for me to bear with a straight face.

Sometimes the boy with the baseball bat would try and intervene, like he cared, like he could actually do anything about it. I'd sneer and giggle at him, so redundant he looked and how silly he acted.

But all was not so pointlessly fun. In the middle of the night, the walls seemed to scrape inwards, closer and closer until I couldn't breath for them being so close. I'd scream and fight but everything was so small, so tight, I couldn't make it go away. The perpetual twilight and the enclosed space was getting to me indeed after so many years of freedom. I never thought I'd crack so quickly. The others they'd just shake their heads at me, like I was embarrassing them, it all so frustrating that they couldn't understand, couldn't see. The burned woman tried to comfort me in the dead of the darkness, when all the others were shut down. She didn't deserve our fate, she did not indeed.

But eventually everything went back to normal in the mornings. The burned woman's compassion would wear thin with her own fear and stress. The others had no compassion to speak of anyways. So, I'd sit and stare at the bloody naked woman once again and lose myself in another dream.

So real these dreams are, how vivid. It is good to pass the time to become lost in such fantasies. How easy it would be to stay in one. How much more simple. How much more pleasurable


	18. The Morning After

He stood staring into the mirror, he watched until he could almost swear to that there was no glass, nothing separating him from the dream that lay beyond.

He could see her in the reflection, he could swear to that too.

She was smiling, that beautiful caring smile she always wore. She was wearing that red dress she wore that day, it looked so pretty on her, he'd always thought so. He'd never told her as much but he thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He loved her. But never got the chance to say, he was coward, he was afraid to tell her. Though she told him everyday, every chance she could.

Half of him was whispering the sweet nothings in her voice, the things that meant so much to him and it was those little words that made him feel human, even when he forgot to act like it. The other part of him, the dark part of him, was shouting that she was dead and gone, that she would hate him now, that she'd been worthless even when she alive, that she was nothing.

He could feel himself tearing down the middle. Devon was indeed dead but that didn't mean she was gone. She'd suffered too in life and might've stayed like him, trapped on Earth. He wished she was but didn't want her to suffer anymore.

He wrenched his talon like fingers down the wall, leaving long thin indentations in the soft damp plaster. He screamed for the unfairness of it all, for the ache he could still feel in his heart though the organ was no longer there, for the loneliness that cut his non-existent insides.

Eventually he tired of screaming, he stopped, his throat hoarse and his limbs feeling heavy. Though in theory he could not experience the physical effects of fatigue, he could feel his eyes growing heavy. He would leave the next morning. If she was still on this Earth then he knew where to look, the only place they'd ever shared in complete honesty and trust. He would find her and all the years lost to them between his own insanity and her tragic death would be made up for ten-fold. He was strong now, and not afraid, he would tell her that she was beautiful; he would tell her that he loved her.

That very night the still air was shattered by the sounds of trucks and men and ambition.


End file.
